The Writing Retreat(39)
“That’s my worst fear.” I crossed my arms. “Getting stuck underground like that. No one knowing you’re there.”
“Yeah. Well, we made it out.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Or did we?”
“Oh, so you’re a ghost, huh?”
“Check.” She held out her arm and I playfully poked it. Again I noticed her tattoos: intricately inked purple flowers against a mass of leaves and fronds.
“What kind of flowers are those?” I asked.
“Wolfsbane.” She twisted her arm so I could fully see. “One of the most deadly plants on earth. This is the vine species.”
“It’s beautiful.”
She jumped up and went to the dresser. “Want to see the real deal?” She returned with a silver necklace. At the end hung a small glass vial that contained a sprig of dried purple flowers.
“Whoa.” I took the vial. The small glass stopper had a hole connecting it to the sterling chain. “Is this a murder weapon?”
She chuckled. “More like a good-luck charm.”
“That’s ironic.”
“Someone gave it to me.”
“Your girlfriend?”
“Yeah.” She smiled softly. “It was something that connected us; we found out we were both into wolfsbane. I’d read about it when I was young; some people said it could turn you into a werewolf. That was a fantasy of mine.”
“To be a werewolf?”
“Yeah. Or something like that—some supernatural creature. I already felt like an outsider. I grew up in an extremely conservative area and stayed closeted for a long time. I wished for some secret power, something to make my alienation make sense.”
“I get it.” I handed it back. “I felt like an outsider, too.”
She continued to gaze at me, studying me.
“What?” I finally asked, feeling awkward.
“Nothing.” She smiled. “Just looking at you.”
My stomach flipped. I smiled back and tried to hold her gaze, but it was too powerful. I looked down.
“You know, I should get going.” I slid off the bed. “I need to write more before dinner. But it was really nice talking to you.”
“Same. Hey, take this.” She held up the plate. “You might need some sustenance.”
And the tension was gone. But her flirtatious look—and maybe I’d made it up?—had made me feel something sharp. I couldn’t tell if it was excitement or fear.
“Sure thing.” I grabbed the plate, avoiding eye contact and hating myself for it. Could I be more of a coward?
“Hey, Alex?”
I paused at the door.
Taylor’s hands were clasped behind her head. “Some friendly words of advice: Don’t let Wren fuck with you, okay? You’re the real deal. She’s a stuck-up little influencer princess.”
The words caused a small avalanche of relief in my chest. This vote of confidence, even from someone who didn’t know either of us very well, felt reassuring.
“Don’t worry.” I tried to sound breezy. “I’m fully planning on kicking her pompous ass and winning this thing.”
She broke into a grin. “That’s the spirit.”
Excerpt from The Great Commission
The first official meeting of the Blackbriar Spiritualist Society took place on a bleak, rainy night.
Abigail and Florence arrived at the same time, their carriage horses pounding up the path and neighing with nervous delight. Daphne ran down the stairs, nearly tripping before catching herself on the banister. At the door, Mrs. Linders was letting them in.
“Daphne!” Abigail pulled her into a hug. Daphne was initially shocked by the familiarity, but then she let herself melt into it. After Horace’s coldness, the embrace felt so affectionate and sisterly that it made her think of Grace. The brief reminder of her dead sister made Daphne square her shoulders as she stepped back. This is why she was here. For too long she’d blocked the spirits that wished to show themselves to her.
She knew the risks of opening herself back up again. From that first time in her bedroom, when she’d seen the rotting woman, she had learned what soon became common sense. Spirits could come in all forms, depending on how conscious and awake they’d been in life. Knowing they were blocked from moving to the next world, many were able to retain a preferred form. Daphne had encountered children, young adults, and the elderly. Some tried to communicate with her, some didn’t. The worst, however, were those poor souls who didn’t realize they were dead. These stayed connected to their decomposing physical form. They were the ones who, over time, became monsters Daphne feared to see.
However, reaching Grace would be worth the chance of running into them.
“Good evening, darling.” Florence gave her air kisses, enveloping her in a flowery halo of cologne. She was trying to retain her usual cool, but a wide grin revealed her giddiness.
“Come in, come in! The room’s all set up!” Daphne brought them into the library, their buttoned shoes clicking against the marble floor. Horace had forbidden them to use the parlor, which had too much of a masculine air, anyway.
“Oh.” Florence’s dubious tone sent a shiver down Daphne’s back. What had she done wrong? “Hmm. I’m not at all sure about this room, ladies. The energy seems off to me.”